


Exchange Rates

by freakylemurcat



Series: A Truce with Benefits [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Booty Calls, Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, Fingerfucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Valve Fingering (Transformers), Valve Oral (Transformers), Valve Play (Transformers), fucking for peace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 10:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20656082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakylemurcat/pseuds/freakylemurcat
Summary: Autobot and Decepticon survival was now dependant on Autobot and Decepticon interaction. The truce preserved them, but if it was lost so were they all, and neither Megatron nor Soundwave was a mech for self-destruction. Further attachments would be beneficial.If Soundwave had his way, he would be adding Jazz into his roster. Since he was opening options up to include Autobots, why not go for the gold standard?Which is, of course, to say the Prime.





	Exchange Rates

There was something to be said for being flown by a mech who had some consideration for his cargo.

Soundwave had never had such a comfortable flight. Beside him in the jump-seats, Jazz sprawled out and chatted amiably with Skyfire, their lift as dutifully requested the cycle previously. The mech had started with his pedes up on one of the seats until Skyfire had threatened to do a barrel-roll, and after that Soundwave had found himself with a lapful of heavy Autobot pedes. He had amused himself spinning one of the tyres on Jazz's heels for sometime, until they cleared the eastern border of the Autobot heartland and Skyfire announced their descent.

* * *

There was a small audience waiting near the makeshift runway when Skyfire touched down. Briefly Soundwave wonders if he had made a mistake - a trap built to catch him? - but Jazz made an unimpressed noise.

"They're gonna give you the business, mech, I'm afraid."

Soundwave didn't get a chance to ask what 'the business' was before Jazz heaved himself to his pedes and trotted out. Only a hint of a limp, thought Soundwave, and then supposed that first impressions might go better if he were not staring at the Autobot TIC's aft the whole time.

Ranged around were familiar mecha, previously mostly seen while trying to kill him or vice versa. Most of them were much more attractive without murderous intention or fear writ large on their face, but more than a few looked peeved. Prowl was glaring at his datapad like it had personally offended him; the Autobot medic Ratchet could not have looked more displeased if he tried.

Soundwave planted his pedes where he stood and tried to not like he was using Jazz' smaller frame as cover.

"Hey," called Jazz, in an overly chummy tone. "What's with the welcoming committee? How's it hanging?"

"You brought a guest," snapped Prowl, finally looking up from his datapad and glaring at Soundwave. "That only Skyfire had the wherewithal to inform me of. Red Alert is having a meltdown, and my security roster is in tatters. So it's ‘hanging’ poorly."

Jazz huffed. "It's only Soundwave."

" _ Soundwave _ , Jazz," said Prowl.

"Affirmative," said Soundwave. It was a touch disheartening to be described as 'only Soundwave', after millennia of terrorising mecha across the galaxy, but it seemed like a poor idea to bring that up just now. "That is my designation."

One of the luridly coloured raceframes choked on his vents in amusement. Even old Ironhide's steely face crimped slightly around the mouth.

"Great, they got jokes now," said Ratchet. He waved a hand towards the other assembled mecha. "You've seen the big scary 'con up close. Run along, you nosy lot."

The expression on Prowl's face did not improve. "When we agreed you would be couriering for Prime, the idea was to reduce the amount of Decepticon contact in person. Therefore bringing one back to the Ark defeats the purpose!"

"Come on, mech - we can barely peel the Constructicons out of the repair sites; there's always a Seeker or two hanging around the Twins. Starscream spends half his time in the labs with Skyfire! We gotta move with the times." Jazz paused and then added. "He's only here to take back a reply from Prime."

"What, you only frag Decepticons now?" said Prowl snidely.

"You are such an aft when you ain't gettin' laid." Jazz crossed his arms just under his bumper. "Which is a shame, because if you're gonna be like that you ain't gettin' none from me."

Before Prowl could announce his rebuttal - and the whole event descend into a bickering match with no end in sight - Ratchet interrupted. Soundwave was unsure if he was pleased or disappointed - one of his spying forays had once caught Jazz and Prowl working off some intrapersonal tension, and it had been worth a rewatch.

"I would argue that nobody should be getting anything from you for a while," Ratchet grunted. "You've got more calipers out of position than in. I don't want to know what you've been doing, but I can guess."

Jazz deflated and allowed himself to be collared by the medic. "I wish you'd give me a warning before you scan, Ratch'."

"What, so you could run away? No luck, sunshine. Medbay for you. Tall, dark and silent can do your delivery round today."

Jazz gave him an apologetic look, but Ratchet’s grip was unbreakable as he was dragged away. Soundwave was left alone with the silent and seething Prowl. The Autobot SIC watched him for a long time, lips pursed and digits bending the line of his datapad. Luckily he did not appear to have brought his acid rifle out this day, but Soundwave suspected if he had there would be a delivery of a couple rounds directly into his visor.

To show willing, and also because he was getting increasing amounts of mud in his pedes standing out here, he retrieved the message pad from his subspace.

"Message: is for your Prime," he intoned. He hadn't read it himself, but the contents would be predictable in their raunchiness. "May I deliver it?"

All of Prowl's vents hissed out an aggravated sigh at once. "Fine," he said tersely,

* * *

Soundwave had explored the dark corners and ventilation shafts of the Ark through the minds and optics of his cassettes, creeping and sneaking in the silent places where only suspicious mechs lurked. To walk down the corridors, metal creaking underpede and bright light on his faceplates, was a novelty. 

At this side of the ship, most of the infrastructure was intact or had at least been better repaired. Some hopeful spark had even attempted to match the paint on some of the metal sheets with a similar shade of orange, but had perhaps more enthusiasm than skill. 

Prowl said nothing more than a few terse commands to keep up, so Soundwave marched alongside in step and took the opportunity to have a good old-fashioned look about. Jazz visited the Nemesis enough now to know his way around - or at least from the command centre to Megatron’s berth - so why should Soundwave not do the same?

It was intriguing and educational, and he was so busy compiling his new knowledge he almost missed Prowl coming to a parade ground stop in front of him. Only good reflexes saved their dignities. 

Giving Soundwave a particularly acid look, Prowl pinged the doorbell and stepped back. They exchanged a long, mutually disagreeable look before the door hissed open. 

And then there was the Prime. 

Huge, paint bright and immaculate, chrome details gleaming, his bulk blocked the doorway. Sharp optics flickered from the Decepticon on his doorstep to the scowling SIC beside him and little was betrayed on his face, disguised as it was by his battlemask. 

“I was expecting Jazz,” said the Prime. His voice had little of the disguise of his expression; quizzical but not displeased. 

“Jazz is otherwise occupied,” said Prowl, with a certain tartness. “Apparently he overdid it."

"Confined to medbay?" said Prime, cocking his helm distractedly. "Ratchet  _ has _ just sent me some very uncomplimentary messages about Decepticon hospitality, but given what I know our CMO gets up to some cycles, I'm going to choose to ignore it."

Prowl scoffed.

"You don't get to comment either," said Prime sternly, fixing his SIC with a gimlet gaze. "Because I know fine well you get involved in those goings-on just as much."

Silently Soundwave wondered what Ratchet was guilty of, but perhaps some information was not worth gaining. 

"One time!" snapped Prowl. "They were persuasive." He shook his helm and gestured sharply at the 'con beside him. "Perhaps you can supervise him until you send your reply, sir. I'm busy."

He turned on his heel and marched out, doorwings high and aggravated. Soundwave had seen similar from Starscream more than once, albeit with more shouting on both sides, but Prowl had the dignified walk-out down to an art. It was something to be savoured.

Optimus Prime sighed, a whistling noise as air leaked the huge hydraulics and pipes that powered his systems. "He isn’t normally as terse, I swear. Anyway, come through Soundwave."

His office appeared surprisingly poky for the leader of the Autobots, and Primus' chosen mech, but the realisation was that the sheer number of accoutrements within shrunk the available room. Datapads were stacked in precarious bundles on most available surfaces; six spare cans of paint under a series of shelves; a few Terran plants in various states of death. 

Soundwave was a believer in the clean desk policy himself.

Prime was a big mech, equivalent in size to Lord Megatron, but moved with less of the self-assured confidence that Soundwave might have expected. He moved slowly, gracefully, used to considering where to place himself amid his smaller, civilian-framed subordinates, so the wreckage of his office gave little issue. It had a sort of elegance that Soundwave admired - different to the bulldozing brute strength of his master, but no less powerful.

The mech sat and opened the datapad, studying the first few lines before he appeared to realise that Soundwave remained standing. He nodded to the spare chair.

"Sit," he said. "Megatron can be wordy, but I'm a quick reader."

Soundwave had been expecting to be dismissed and have to go and lurk somewhere until Prime decided on his return message. He had already secured Astrotrain's attentions for a return ride - even though Jazz was correct about the triplechanger having something to learn about passenger comfort. Sitting down and waiting in the Prime's office had not been amongst his expected outcomes.

Even without the Prime's attention on him, he felt awkward and stiff. To be in Megatron's presence alone traditionally meant you were in sharp danger of being  _ fragged,  _ with either definition often being an equal possibility. At least Soundwave was well aware of his lord's habits in berth - it was rarely unpleasant, but certainly you had to hang on for dear life. The Prime was an unknown quantity.

On the other servo, Prime was not unattractive. He had a big broad chest, which Soundwave always approved of in a mech, superb posture and the distant distinct hum of the Matrix by his spark coloured his all-encompassing field with a near meditative calm. It was easy to be lulled by his presence; Soundwave had never been so close without the sour tang of fear and anger disturbing the experience and found himself quite enjoying it.

True to his word, Prime read quickly. The swell of his EM field tinged slowly with warm pleasure, like a blanket had been thrown over Soundwave's shoulders. As calm and centred as he felt Soundwave could analyse the eddies of the electromagnesis further, to pick out the individual strands of amusement and pleasure and lust. There was a strong current of affection throughout, something Soundwave had not expected but found himself pleased to encounter.

“Have you read this?” asked Prime thoughtfully, when his optics rested on the last few glyphs.

“Negative. Too much exposure to high level communications has been distracting,” he replied, monotone preventing the layers of sarcasm he wanted to add to the glyphs.

“Huh. Megatron has offered you to me, in return for, and I quote, ‘ruining my own little toy’.” Prime snorted. “Like Jazz will let an overenthusiastic frag keep him down for long.”

Soundwave nodded. They had discussed it, soft murmurs and comms over Jazz’ helm as he had recharge in a heap between them; the 'ruined toy' himself with digits interlaced so tightly into Megatron's carburettors it was nigh on impossible to shift him without breaking something on them both. 

Autobot and Decepticon survival was now dependant on Autobot and Decepticon interaction. The truce preserved them, but if it was lost so were they all, and neither Megatron nor Soundwave was a mech for self-destruction. Further attachments would be beneficial. 

Soundwave was not a mech that had ever taken to sharing himself freely. He was, by nature and by habit, a secretive mech, and had enjoyed the air of mystery keeping himself to himself had given him. But he still liked a good interface, and so had carefully curated a selection he could choose from. Megatron was perhaps one of the first on the list, always dependable if a mech wanted to be pounded into a berthtop. Shockwave was a dependable, if clinical, interface partner, but distance had precluded him as an option for a while. Otherwise, there was always a willing Seeker somewhere in the Nemesis - Soundwave had restricted himself to the Elite Trine as a rule. Skywarp was a mischievous, eager participant, Thundercracker outwardly stoic but easy to turn into a panting puddle and Starscream… Well, getting Starscream in berth was noisy but well worth it in the end. 

If Soundwave had his way, he would be adding Jazz into his roster. Since he was opening options up to include Autobots, why not go for the gold standard? 

Soundwave had volunteered for the role Megatron had offered with little hesitation. .

“I have to admit,” said Prime, gradually setting the datapad down. “That when I first sent Jazz into Megatron’s lair, I wasn’t expecting for it to spread quite like it has.”

Soundwave cocked his head. “Question: sharing concerns Prime?”

There was a long pause, in which Soundwave realized that when Prime didn’t speak he was close to a blank slate. His tell was his voice, and when deprived of that it was nigh impossible to tell his emotions.

“No,” said Prime eventually, leaning back into his chair and twirling the datapad around by the leading edge. “I don’t. We are busy mechs, both of us, and I have already given too much to my lieutenants. The less the humans see of this the better for us all as well. Exclusivity is not necessary.”

Soundwave hummed, purposefully creating that big open blank space in the conversation that some mechs could not bear. But Prime only looked at him, optics slowly shuttering and resyncing.

“Unfortunate,” said Soundwave eventually. “Lord Megatron will be disappointed to have no evidence of your jealousy.”

Prime made that snorting noise again, but when he spoke his voice was a basso rumble that made Soundwave cock his helm. “If you think that Megatron has no evidence of that, then you have been spying on the wrong comm frequencies.” His engine turned over with a full body shudder, and when he stood Soundwave - not a small mech by any means - felt quite dwarfed. "But enough of him."

The battlemask slid back as most did and underneath was a handsome enough face, generic enough to still remind of the Prime's low caste origins but changed in some almost imperceptible way. He did have one of those mobile mouths, quick to curl or twist much like his voice, and Soundwave’s gaze focused in on it even as he was pulled up to his pedes and pulled tight against another frame. As boxy as they both were they fit well together. 

Prime nosed along Soundwave's throat, up to his jaw and then the edges of his own mask. Much the same, Soundwave could retract it, show more protoform, but he disliked being bared in such a way. When he turned his face from the attention, the Prime grasped his meaning quickly and diverted back to exposed cabling, where the warmth of his mouth set sparks alight.

Soundwave let himself be pushed back onto the thin strip of unencumbered desk behind him, spread his thighs almost laconically around broad thighs. Big rough servos scraped down his chest, tracing the rim of the glass with just enough pressure to make him push forward for more.

The hands had already moved on though, tracing the buttons and switches and exposed cabling where they could find it before cupping around his pelvic plate in a possessive gesture.

"Open?" suggested the Prime, mouth curling into a grin which is so familiar Soundwave is compelled to obey. He had last seen the same expression on Megatron's face, broad and arrogant and cocksure - and had ended up rolled onto the berthtop and ploughed hard into the sheets not moments later.

Like some trained hound, his panels transformed out of the way, leaving that broad palm to cup the rim of his valve tightly. He felt hot in his core and keen enough, but he had never been overly forthcoming with slick. Even the brace of a thumb digit rolling over his anterior node could only conjure a few droplets further up in his valve. Scarred digit tips circled the inner rim, like they were locating and testing every sensor and biolight.

Soundwave gripped the broad shoulders in front of him, and squeezed with every firm rub over his nodes. His array slowly warmed and lit up with slow pulses of charge, building superficially.He must have given more away that he had intended - in his field or his body language - for Prime seemed to know where exactly to press, how Soundwave liked to feel the stretch of digits inside him. 

Alternatively, he would not have put it past Megatron to have sent instructions. 

Regardless of his source, the Prime seemed intent on making Soundwave’s hydraulics lose pressure. Now he had stroked every node into life, he started a slow pump of his digits, driving deeper each time and as he gradually warmed up Soundwave’s valve, his field burnt a little brighter with delight. His helm inclined against the side of Soundwave’s neck, mouth warm against cables and wires. Perhaps with a mech with uncovered lipplates, he might exchange kisses at this stage, force his glossa to the back of their intake and claim their mouth like he did their valve. 

The thought eked a few more droplets of slick down, eased the thrust of two thick digits opening his calipers out. Prime used his new lubrication to slick over Soundwaves’ valve lips, circle his anterior node to make the pressure of his thumb a little easier. 

“Stoic,” said Prime, canting his helm up to nuzzle his cheek to Soundwave’s again. “I like it.”   


“Nothing to discuss,” intoned Soundwave, although his valve throbbed faintly and his cooling fans had come online when he had been distracted.

There was a flicker of hungry anticipation in the Prime’s field in response, and then Soundwave was shoved back firmly onto the desk. Big servos grasped both of his thighs and drew his aft closer to the edge. Soundwave could only imagine he was about to be pounded through the desktop, when the Prime flashed a sharp, bright smile and dropped to his knees. 

Soundwave’s helm fell back against the desk with a thud.

There was a Prime licking broad, wet, hot stripes up his valve. Lapping at the swollen, sensitive lips and sucking hard on his anterior node until static burst from Soundwave's vocaliser unbidden. A Prime! Kneeling and keen between his thighs!

For all of Megatron's follies, sometimes his ideas were indeed worth it.

The mech's glossae curled and did something frankly unholy around Soundwave's throbbing node, dragging another flurry of static from his speakers. Already he could feel more slick forming deep inside, warming the nodes that devilish glossae isn't long enough to reach. The lower nodes need little, already woken by the pulse of strong digits and now slick with oral lubricant instead, but there’s no escaping the pleasure. 

Stoicism was all well and good, but there were times it was impossible. Such as now, with Prime’s mouth sucking tightly over his anterior node and his huge field burning hot like a lover draped across Soundwave’s chest. He tried to tilt his helm up, to watch the Autobot knelt and debasing himself between his legs, but everytime he tried the Prime pulled out another wicked trick and twist of the glossa. 

Already, there was the aching, coiling burn of an overload starting in his pelvis, just above where Prime was laving deep into the inner rings of his valve. Soundwave was torn between enjoying the slow, agonising drag closer and closer, or reaching down and rubbing his own node just the way he liked it to bring and end to the torture. 

But Soundwave was patient above all else, and he knew from experience the overload would be all the more sweeter for the anticipation. So he forced his hands to remain still and choked on his own static as that talented mouth brought him step by step closer and thick digits slipped up through the mess of his lips and slid just as deep as they had before. This time the Prime took no prisoners, no delicacy, with his touch and fragged him hard beneath the wicked touch of his mouth.

It was a knot was being drawn tighter and tighter in his belly, each hip shaking thrust tugging the strings harder and harder. There was no respite, and even if it had been offered, Soundwave wouldn't have taken it, enjoying the now heavy pounding between his thighs just as much as the soft strokes of the glossa over his mesh.  When the  knot pinged open, a brief startling moment, Soundwave’s hot frame flooded with hot, bright charge, voltage crashing through fuses and crimping down every caliper into an agonising squeeze only to release and then start over again. He writhed against it, bucking wildly against the friction on his node until the last throbbing spasm left him. 

When the world seemed a little less electrified, Soundwave managed to peel the back of his helm off the desk and raised himself on his elbows to peer down between his thighs. Prime still crouched there, smile wet with Soundwave’s lubricant. As Soundwave watched, the battlemask slid across again, trapping the obscene decoration behind and the big Autobot stood slowly. 

“I had a feeling you would be intense,” said Prime, voice a basso rumble. “I am glad you would let me take you to overload.”

“Effort appreciated,” said Soundwave, definitely meaning it. He reached out.  "Prime has not yet shown me what I am to work with," he added, placing his palm across the burning heat of the mech's pelvic plate. The metal was bowed slightly, pinging with the temperatures he was reaching. A big mech like this would need a certain amount of effort to get the torque going, but once it was on there would be little stopping it.

Prime chuckled and stepped back, the armour folding and twisting into the transformation seams, so his spike housing was bared. Already the unit had partially extended, but blocked by the outer armour had stalled, and so it was a matter of a few moments before it pressurised fully. The red and silver platelets were a fine contrast to Soundwave's navy paint when it pressed up against his belly.

His spike was proportionate certainly, thought Soundwave, idly grasping and stroking the length. The slightly lurid colour scheme didn't detract much from the presentation - it was thick and long, and Soundwave's digits slipped over firm ridges along the underside designed to drive a valve-mech mad with pleasure.

"All right?" said Prime, voice thick. 

"Satisfactory," said Soundwave.

It would be an excellent spike in actuality, but it rarely paid to let a mech know right away. Distantly, Prime was grumbling about the 'satisfactory' comment, but that was just ego - Megatron's was just as easy to dent and just as fun to put back together again. A firm squeeze of digits at the zenith of every stroke was enough at the moment to silence the mech and have him half-draped over Soundwave's shoulder as he panted.

This gave Soundwave time to think - which way was best to take it? Those ridges promised a good time, but what nodes did he want them against? Megatron would have decided for him - and rarely made a poor decision in these instances - but Prime was a more malleable character. He would probably be content with being brought to overload by Soundwave's servo, but it seemed a waste of a nice spike.

Instead, he released his grip and braced a palm against the Prime’s chest to push him back a few paces. WIth enough space he set his pedes back to the floor and, ignoring how weak his hydraulic pressure already was, turned to place his palms flat on the desk. Prime was an impressively quick study, and had his big frame plastered over Soundwave’s back almost instantly, vast frame spilling heat like a volcano. 

“Like this?” 

Soundwave ducked his helm, spotting the shadowy weight of the mech’s spike as it slotted up against his pelvis. “Affirmative.” he said. 

The tip of Prime's spike nosed between the soft mesh of his valve, dipping in between the lips to spread him delicately. There was a brief pause as the mech atop him resituated his hips and then a firm push forward. Something inside popped and clicked open, but it was overcome swiftly by the curious sensation of the ridges bumping over his inner rim. 

His decision had been the correct one; those thick ridges ran roughshod over the plexus of sensor extending up to his valve from his anterior node and caught and stretched the rim of his valve. Prime's mouth had softened and warmed him, but the flex as his mesh opened around that thick spike was pleasant.

Now his valve was tight and eager in equal amounts, calipers giving only reluctantly so the Prime's spike felt even larger than Soundwave logically knew that it was. He dropped his helm to the desktop and gripped the far edge to give himself something to centre on except the steady advancement of thick spike in his valve.

Prime's smokestacks rattled and his torque heavy engine rumbled like a wave of distant thunder, a pitch off Megatron's steely growl but familiar enough to be comforting.

Big servos clasped his hips, tight around his heavy plating so he could feel the squeeze and the power behind him, and he was dragged back into the next thrust. A shudder racked through him, barely finished by the time the stroke out began, and he was left shaking so hard his plating rattled.

"Continue!" he blurted, when the Prime seemed to pause at the end of the stroke. "Please!"

"Good," said the Prime, sounding infuriatingly smug. Soundwave figured he deserved to be self-satisfied for a little while, especially if it meant he could have more of those ridges over his sensor plexus. Already he was as wet as he had been for sometime, palpable slick on the outer lips of his valve. Another few strokes of that spike and there was a slick sound with every push as more and more lubricant bubbled out.

And, above all else, was the crushing encroachment of the Prime’s huge field. It burnt with intensity, hungry and grasping and taking, the alien lens of the Matrix somehow sharpening and diffusing the sensation at the same time. 

This time there was none of the slow tightening grip of his first overload, but a quick sharp build of friction on energon plump mesh and nodes still twinging with voltage. His anterior node ached with each thrust, even if nothing touched it the inner pressure was just enough to radiate through, and this time Soundwave had to clap a servo over his own throat to prevent his vocaliser firing into a shout of pleasure. He was wracked with the pleasure for a long while, as Prime never ceased his heavy thrusts until the last of the charge was fragged from his fuses. 

“Do not cease on my account.” His vocaliser was capable of only a hoarse whisper, half-static from his overload. Prime had to lean in closer to hear. 

"Oh, I don’t intend to," murmured Prime, tucking himself in tight and using short hard little strokes that Soundwave suspected would feel amazing if he had the capacity let to overload. Instead he clung to the desk and panted through the last little echoes of charge. 

Prime overloaded with a sudden sharp groan; thrusts becoming ragged as his hips pumped a few more times and then buried his spike as deep as possible. Soundwave dropped his helm forward, the sensation of thick, scalding hot fluid spilling into the tight space of his valve leaving him shaking. Sensitive as he was, he imagined he could feel each surge down the length of the spike, pumping out until there was no space left and a thick ooze trickled down from his crammed tight valve and into the joint crease of his aft. Prime sagged over him, frame shivering with the effort, and Soundwave relaxed into the warm pressure over his spinal struts. 

He wasn’t sure what he had expected next. Certainly something close to the lines of Prime peeling himself up and maybe a faintly uncomfortable debrief before Soundwave could call for his transport and take himself back to the Nemesis. Not for Prime to ease away, flip Soundwave onto his back like he weighed nothing and realign his spike with the sloppy mess of his valve again.

For once, Soundwave’s shock must have been palpable Prime’s own field fairly glowed with satisfaction.

"We know each other in the battlefield and not the berthroom," said Prime, easing his spike deep again, so Soundwave could feel each bolt of pressure on the nodes of his vault. "And now, like then, we keep surprising each other with our capabilities. Is this so different? We dragged each other to a stalemate, so we found a new front to war on." He leant down, in and close and the thrum of his all-consuming EM field weighed down through Suondwabve's chest into his own spark, like being exposed to a sun. "I prefer this way, don't you?"

* * *

Not for the first time did Soundwave wonder if he should be encouraging Megatron and Prime into a few more personal meetings about the state of the truce. They'd get no actual work done of course - not since the first meeting, which had taken all day and all night and superbly upset both Prowl and Starscream, had they ever actually managed to achieve anything of worth. 

But it might take some of the pressure off various subordinates who were working themselves to insanity - or the medberth - trying to keep up with demand.

**Author's Note:**

> I have two headcanons which were the backbone for this:  
1\. Soundwave is bae and deserves all the dick he wants.  
2\. Prime fucks. 
> 
> (Also, once Jazz gets out of <strike>prison</strike> medbay, he's finding Prowl and fucking some manners back into him, because it's in no one's best interests for Prowl to be that pissed off.)


End file.
